


gold, like september

by ghostwit



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, I don't get into that much but uhh. It's in that one., M/M, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22399834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwit/pseuds/ghostwit
Summary: Ace goes looking for a job and finds a fight.
Relationships: Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Portgas D. Ace
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	gold, like september

**Author's Note:**

> (In which a local pirate dries up on funds and really, how hard can being a carny be?)

“I am,” the man says, all toothy grin and unadulterated pride, giving the skin over the crown of his sternum a resounding double pat, “a pirate.” The man beside him gives a little snicker, turns his head so carefully parted blue hair can fall over his masked face. 

“Oh? That so?” Marco’s ankles cross, smug. He slides forward and his elbows fall over his splayed knees, shifting the loose chambray of his pants so it pools further into the gap between his legs, and the freckled man’s glaze flicks down momentarily, eye caught by the dapples of shadow forming with the shift. He lifts a hand to press it to his ear, letting his head drop and neck stretch. It’s sinfully casual, painted arms lax, shoulders loose, torso bared in full bar the adorning gold running fluttery cords to his navel from the collar resting over the hollow of his throat, especially so when the man’s got the wicked edge of a dagger beading blood under the strong cut of the acrobat’s jaw. 

“What are we even doing…” The one with blue hair mutters, mostly to himself, shuffling a little on his feet. 

“You wanna see another trick-yoi?” Marco smiles, inches forward on uncorded shoulders to make the blood run a stark line down the swell of his Adam’s apple and catch in the sparse hair there, stark crimson against tanned skin and warm gold. 

“Depen--” 

The pirate’s back hits the floor with an aborted shout and a flicker of gold and teal, brilliant turquoise for the brief moment where Marco’s entire body lights into something precious and opulent, and even through the pain pounding circles in Ace’s head, his heart gives an impatient tug at the sight. He’s pinned, fabric to fabric where Marco’s legs cross his chest like an iron bar, hands planted on either shoulder. The dagger thrown behind them catches in the wall, sliding down and cutting open the muslin of the tent to stripe Marco’s chest in white light, jewelry jangling cheerily and reflecting bright enough to obscure the performer’s face from view. The man beside him shows the barest flicker of hesitation before he reaches beneath his coat, thick leather of an odd olive tint swishing around his knees with the movement.

“Deuce, hold on,” Ace grins again, “I’ve got tricks too, old man,” Marco makes an offended noise somewhere high in his throat when he drops his neck to meet the pirate’s smile face on. 

When he dissolves into brilliant flame, Marco’s first reaction (aside from the quickened heartbeat, the strangled cry of his phoenix trilling in delight from somewhere deep in his chest because fire,  _ fire! _ , the rush of giddy heat licking up his chest and into his cheeks hidden gracefully under the warm, red glow) is to run hands--trim fingers slipping over the tight planes of muscle of his abdomen, mingling with the softly chiming trails of delicately corded metal making Ace’s mouth go dry, a quick _Is he going to-?_ burning through his mind--up his chest, flipping the chains onto his back to shelter them from the heat. Gold is a soft metal, after all. 

The old man’s--Pops, Marco had called him, with a happy little flap of a fascinatingly half-formed wing as he helped Ace to his feet even with his pants burned to tatters around, ugh,  _ unfairly  _ toned legs--laugh is hearty and boisterous, and Ace finds himself liking him instantly in spite of himself. 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get attached,” he mutters, flushing at the man’s pleased appraisal and the way Marco’s hand finds itself in the small of his back, bangles making merry noise as he gives him a couple consoling pats which send excited sparks up the column of his spine. 

Deuce runs a hand through his hair, still breathing hard, and heaves a nervous sigh. His fingers itch for a pen.

**Author's Note:**

> I WROTE THIS TO HAVE SOMETHING TO POST, LOL. Uuhh. I promise I'm writing something long, please forgive me.  
> Ace and Marco being acrobats together does something to my brain... Maybe I'll write something about a routine if I ever do any actual research on that shit, lol. I do... want to write more of this AU for sure, though, haha, this was super sparse.
> 
> Also, also--been SUPER thinking about Marco having, uhh, bird tendencies. Something about referring to his Tori Tori no Mi powers as independent of himself makes me kinda nuts, lol. 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you'd like, thank you for reading!
> 
> hazeism.tumblr.com


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